


Blood

by artoni



Category: Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-12
Updated: 2012-10-12
Packaged: 2017-11-16 03:17:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/534882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artoni/pseuds/artoni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before he'd only killed in warm blood, and told himself that's what made him different. But all of the blood here is warm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blood

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [Tumblr](http://happyhippyspookydrift.tumblr.com/post/33367531246).

Fortress Maximus has never been a stranger to war.

Built for it, literally born for it, he's never known anything /but/ the fight. He's all right with that being the way of things; turns out he was pretty damn good at war. He liked the fight, he liked the challenge, and he'd always told himself that there was nothing wrong with either of those things. It wasn't like he enjoyed killing, right? Did what you had to do. He liked the whole killing-someone-before-they-killed-you, yeah, but he'd never considered himself bad for it because it'd only ever been in warm blood.

 _All_ the blood here is warm. But it helps nothing.

From the moment the fight turned hopeless but he still went through with it anyway, fully expecting to die, to being thrown in to the welcoming and tearing arms of his former inmates, to being nailed to a table - the only thing cold is his spark as more and more is stripped away from him, physically, mentally, there doesn't seem to be /anything/ left untouched by Garrus and its new Master. Overlord. The name fits him, he's able to think hysterically in one of the lulls of it all, when there's nothing there but him and his thoughts and the memories of screams and are they just memories?

The worst is when the screams aren't his own, and when there's others suffering, sometimes right before his eyes. But he's already been bent so far that to break now would be his ending, and Fort Max can only watch in despair as the blood of one of his former guard splashes on to him, and it almost burns him with how hot it is, but not nearly as much as it does to see the light in those yellow optics go out-

He doesn't realize there's anything /but/ blood on his face until there's a hand coming up to touch his cheek. Fluid is leaking from his optics as he chokes, unable to stop himself, and then there's red looming over him, smiling just that much, and he's covered in blood, it drips off him-

Maximus told himself that he was different, that he was better than them. But this is the face of someone who tossed aside all of his strength and skill as though it were nothing, as though /he/ were nothing, someone who may not have been built for war but undeniably /is/ war, deep down to his spark. War and chaos but even with that, even then, there is something so horrifically /empty/ about him, as though he's some sort of void that saps up everything Max can possibly use as defense or shield, mercilessly taking it in and yet drawing even more.

It is as though Max is staring in to an abyss...but what's more, is that he's come to truly understand what it means for the abyss to stare back.


End file.
